Chronicles， Vol. 1像一块滚石 鲍勃·迪伦回忆录第1卷 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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Bob Dylan（鲍勃·迪伦） 著

出版社： Simon & Schuster US

ISBN：9780743244589

商品编码：19280344

包装：平装

丛书名： Chronicles

出版时间：2005-10-31

用纸：胶版纸

页数：293

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：21.3x14.1x2.2cm

内容简介

""I'd come from a long ways off and had started a long ways down. But now destiny was about to manifest itself. I felt like it was looking right at me and nobody else.""

Bob Dylan's "Chronicle: Volume One" explores the critical junctions in his life and career. Through Dylan's eyes and open mind, we see Greenwich Village, circa 1961, when he first arrives in Manhattan. Dylan's New York is a magical city of possibilities -- smoky, nightlong parties; literary awakenings; transient loves and unbreakable friendships. Elegiac observations are punctuated by jabs of memories, penetrating and tough. With side trips to New Orleans, Woodstock, Minnesota and points west, "Chronicles: Volume One" is an intimate and intensely personal recollection of extraordinary times.

Revealing, poetical, passionate and witty, "Chronicles: Volume One" is a mesmerizing window on Bob Dylan's thoughts and influences. Dylan's voice is distinctively American: generous of spirit, engaged, fanciful and rhythmic. Utilizing his unparalleled gifts of storytelling and the exquisite expressiveness that are the hallmarks of his music, Bob Dylan turns "Chronicles: Volume One" into a poignant reflection on life, and the people and places that helped shape the man and the art.
　　一本历时三年在手动打字机上敲出来的回忆录，证明其作者是一位杰出的散文大师，一位引人注目的文化观察家，和一位化装成荡秋千演员的诗人。我们早就知道迪伦会写，然而我们没有想到他会写得如此出色，没有想到这位摇滚老江湖可以用如此的热情、怜悯和深邃的眼光回顾往昔的岁月。
　　你在这里听到迪伦无与伦比的声音，他的抑扬顿挫，他冷面幽默的机智，他玩弄词藻的本领以及各种惊心动魄的回忆——所有一切都讲得非常漂亮。原来迪伦竟然在追忆过去，想象当年人们的面貌、穿着和谈吐的时候竟然有种普鲁斯特式的风采。
　　尤其引人入胜的是，本书献给读者一份心意，让他们更好地了解他作品的真谛：迪伦几十年来在若干采访中极为吝啬地散落的思想火花。本书为读者开辟了一条理解作者思和艺术的通道，对于迪伦而言，这是一个至关重要的人生交接点，迪伦一方面在寻找一种让整整一代人有共鸣的声音，替他们说话（尽管他自己并不情愿如此）。另一方面，他又在积极复兴他游吟诗人的传统。
　　鲍勃·迪伦不仅称得上是20世纪伟大的摇滚音乐家，更是一位杰出的诗人，一位语言大师（他是惟一一位获诺贝尔文学奖提名的音乐家）。本书出版以后，获得了如潮的好评：有媒体把它与克鲁亚克的《在路上》相提并论，也有媒体说它写作手法直追意识流大师普鲁斯特，更有媒体称迪伦为莎士比亚以来伟大的英语作家。本书记录的不仅是作者发明创造和灵感迸发的辉煌时刻，还有那些意气消沉的时刻！

作者简介

Bob Dylan is one of the most lauded and greatest-loved songwriters and performers of all time. His particular brand of music first caught the public’s attention in the 1960s. He has released thirty-five studio albums with hits ranging from “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “Like a Rolling Stone” to “All Along the Watchtower,” “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” and “Make You Feel My Love.” His remarkable career in music and literature continues to this day.
　　鲍勃·迪伦（Bob Dylan，1941年5月24日－），原名罗伯特·艾伦·齐默曼（Robert Allen Zimmerman），有重要影响力的美国唱作人，摇滚歌手，民谣歌手，音乐家，诗人，获2008年诺贝尔文学奖提名。迪伦的影响力主要体现在60年代，他对音乐的主要的贡献是歌词的深刻寓意与音乐成为同等重要的一部分，他对工业国家整个一代人的敏感性的形成起了很大的作用，他的音乐对理解和分析60年代是至关重要的。纵观其音乐生涯，Bob Dylan 堪称赋予了摇滚乐以灵魂。

精彩书评

One would not anticipate a conventional memoir from Bob Dylan--indeed, one would not have foreseen an autobiography at all from the pen of the notoriously private legend. What Chronicles: Volume 1 delivers is an odd but ultimately illuminating memoir that is as impulsive, eccentric, and inspired as Dylan's greatest music. Eschewing chronology and skipping over most of the "highlights" that his many biographers have assigned him, Dylan drifts and rambles through his tale, amplifying a series of major and minor epiphanies. If you're interested in a behind-the-scenes look at his encounters with the Beatles, look elsewhere. Dylan describes the sensation of hearing the group's "Do You Want to Know a Secret" on the radio, but devotes far more ink to a Louisiana shopkeeper named Sun Pie, who tells him, "I think all the good in the world might already been done" and sells him a World's Greatest Grandpa bumper sticker. Dylan certainly sticks to his own agenda--a newspaper article about journeymen heavyweights Jerry Quarry and Jimmy Ellis and soul singer Joe Tex's appearance on The Tonight Show inspire heartfelt musings, and yet the 1963 assassination of John Kennedy prompts nary a word from the era's greatest protest singer. For all the small revelations (it turns out he's been a big fan of Barry Goldwater, Mickey Rourke, and Ice-T), there are eye-opening disclosures, including his confession that a large portion of his recorded output was designed to alienate his audience and free him from the burden of being a "the voice of a generation." Off the beaten path as it is, Chronicles is nevertheless an astonishing achievement. As revelatory in its own way as Blonde on Blonde or Highway 61 Revisited, it provides ephemeral insights into the mind one of the most significant artistic voices of the 20th century while creating a completely new set of mysteries.
--Steven Stolder

精彩书摘

Chapter 1: Markin' Up the Score Lou Levy, top man of Leeds Music Publishing company, took me up in a taxi to the Pythian Temple on West 70th Street to show me the pocket sized recording studio where Bill Haley and His Comets had recorded "Rock Around the Clock" -- then down to Jack Dempsey's restaurant on 58th and Broadway, where we sat down in a red leather upholstered booth facing the front window. Lou introduced me to Jack Dempsey, the great boxer. Jack shook his fist at me. "You look too light for a heavyweight kid, you'll have to put on a few pounds. You're gonna have to dress a little finer, look a little sharper -- not that you'll need much in the way of clothes when you're in the ring -- don't be afraid of hitting somebody too hard." "He's not a boxer, Jack, he's a songwriter and we'll be publishing his songs." "Oh, yeah, well I hope to hear 'em some of these days. Good luck to you, kid." Outside the wind was blowing, straggling cloud wisps, snow whirling in the red lanterned streets, city types scuffling around, bundled up -- salesmen in rabbit fur earmuffs hawking gimmicks, chestnut vendors, steam rising out of manholes. None of it seemed important. I had just signed a contract with Leeds Music giving it the right to publish my songs, not that there was any great deal to hammer out. I hadn't written much yet. Lou had advanced me a hundred dollars against future royalties to sign the paper and that was fine with me. John Hammond, who had brought me to Columbia Records, had taken me over to see Lou, asked him to look after me. Hammond had only heard two of my original compositions, but he had a premonition that there would be more. Back at Lou's office, I opened my guitar case, took the guitar out and began fingering the strings. The room was cluttered -- boxes of sheet music stacked up, recording dates of artists posted on bulletin boards, black lacquered discs, acetates with white labels scrambled around, signed photos of entertainers, glossy portraits -- Jerry Vale, Al Martino, The Andrews Sisters (Lou was married to one of them), Nat King Cole, Patti Page, The Crew Cuts -- a couple of console reel-to-reel tape recorders, big dark brown wooden desk full of hodgepodge. Lou had put a microphone on the desk in front of me and plugged the cord into one of the tape recorders, all the while chomping on a big exotic stogie. "John's got high hopes for you," Lou said. John was John Hammond, the great talent scout and discoverer of monumental artists, imposing figures in the history of recorded music -- Billie Holiday, Teddy Wilson, Charlie Christian, Cab Calloway, Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Lionel Hampton. Artists who had created music that resonated through American life. He had brought it all to the public eye. Hammond had even conducted the last recording sessions of Bessie Smith. He was legendary, pure American aristocracy. His mother was an original Vanderbilt, and John had been raised in the upper world, in comfort and ease -- but he wasn't satisfied and had followed his own heart's love, music, preferably the ringing rhythm of hot jazz, spirituals and blues -- which he endorsed and defended with his life. No one could block his way, and he didn't have time to waste. I could hardly believe myself awake when sitting in his office, him signing me to Columbia Records was so unbelievable. It would have sounded like a made-up thing. Columbia was one of the first and foremost labels in the country and for me to even get my foot in the door was serious. For starters, folk music was considered junky, second rate and only released on small labels. Big-time record companies were strictly for the elite, for music that was sanitized and pasteurized. Someone like myself would never be allowed in except under extraordinary circumstances. But John was an extraordinary man. He didn't make schoolboy records or record schoolboy artists. He had vision and foresight, had seen and heard me, felt my thoughts and had faith in the things to come. He explained that he saw me as someone in the long line of a tradition, the tradition of blues, jazz and folk and not as some newfangled wunderkind on the cutting edge. Not that there was any cutting edge. Things were pretty sleepy on the Americana music scene in the late '50s and early '60s. Popular radio was sort of at a standstill and filled with empty pleasantries. It was years before The Beatles, The Who or The Rolling Stones would breathe new life and excitement into it. What I was playing at the time were hard-lipped folk songs with fire and brimstone servings, and you didn't need to take polls to know that they didn't match up with anything on the radio, didn't lend themselves to commercialism, but John told me that these things weren't high on his list and he understood all the implications of what I did. "I understand sincerity," is what he said. John spoke with a rough, coarse attitude, yet had an appreciative twinkle in his eye. Recently he had brought Pete Seeger to the label. He didn't discover Pete, though. Pete had been around for years. He'd been in the popular folk group The Weavers, but had been blacklisted during the McCarthy era and had a hard time, but he never stopped working. Hammond was defiant when he spoke about Seeger, that Pete's ancestors had come over on the Mayflower, that his relatives had fought the Battle of Bunker Hill, for Christsake. "Can you imagine those sons of bitches blacklisting him? They should be tarred and feathered." "I'm gonna give you all the facts," he said to me. "You're a talented young man. If you can focus and control that talent, you'll be fine. I'm gonna bring you in and I'm gonna record you. We'll see what happens." And that was good enough for me. He put a contract in front of me, the standard one, and I signed it right then and there, didn't get absorbed into details -- didn't need a lawyer, advisor or anybody looking over my shoulder. I would have gladly signed whatever form he put in front of me. He looked at the calendar, picked out a date for me to start recording, pointed to it and circled it, told me what time to come in and to think about what I wanted to play. Then he called in Billy James, the head of publicity at the label, told Billy to write some promo stuff on me, personal stuff for a press release. Billy dressed Ivy League like he could have come out of Yale -- medium height, crisp black hair. He looked like he'd never been stoned a day in his life, never been in any kind of trouble. I strolled into his office, sat down opposite his desk, and he tried to get me to cough up some facts, like I was supposed to give them to him straight and square. He took out a notepad and pencil and asked me where I was from. I told him I was from Illinois and he wrote it down. He asked me if I ever did any other work and I told him that I had a dozen jobs, drove a bakery truck once. He wrote that down and asked me if there was anything else. I said I'd worked construction and he asked me where. "Detroit." "You traveled around?" "Yep." He asked me about my family, where they were. I told him I had no idea, that they were long gone. "What was your home life like?" I told him I'd been kicked out. "What did your father do?" "'lectrician." "And your mother, what about her?" "Housewife." "What kind of music do you play?" "Folk music." "What kind of music is folk music?" I told him it was handed down songs. I hated these kind of questions. Felt I could ignore them. Billy seemed unsure of me and that was just fine. I didn't feel like answering his questions anyway, didn't feel the need to explain anything to anybody. "How did you get here?" he asked me. "I rode a freight train." "You mean a passenger train?" "No, a freight train." "You mean, like a boxcar?" "Yeah, like a boxcar. Like a freight train." "Okay, a freight train." I gazed past Billy, past his chair through his window across the street to an office building where I could see a blazing secretary soaked up in the spirit of something -- she was scribbling busy, occupied at a desk in a meditative manner. There was nothing funny about her. I wished I had a telescope. Billy asked me who I saw myself like in today's music scene. I told him, nobody. That part of things was true, I really didn't see myself like anybody. The rest of it, though, was pure hokum -- hophead talk. I hadn't come in on a freight train at all. What I did was come across the country from the Midwest in a four-door sedan, '57 Impala -- straight out of Chicago, clearing the hell out of there -- racing all the way through the smoky towns, winding roads, green fields covered with snow, onward, eastbound through the state lines, Ohio, Indiana, Pennsylvania, a twenty-four-hour ride, dozing most of the way in the backseat, making small talk. My mind fixed on hidden interests...eventually riding over the George Washington Bridge. The big car came to a full stop on the other side and let me out. I slammed the door shut behind me, waved good-bye, stepped out onto the hard snow. The biting wind hit me in the face. At last I was here, in New York City, a city like a web too intricate to understand and I wasn't going to try. I was there to find singers, the ones I'd heard on record -- Dave Van Ronk, Peggy Seeger, Ed McCurdy, Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry, Josh White, The New Lost City Ramblers, Reverend Gary Davis and a bunch of others -- most of all to find Woody Guthrie. New York City, the city that would come to shape my destiny. Modern Gomorrah. I was at the initiation point of square one but in no sense a neophyte. When I arrived, it was dead-on winter. The cold was brutal and every artery of the city was snowpacked, but I'd started out from the frostbitten North Country, a little corner of the earth where the dark frozen woods and icy roads didn't faze me. I could transcend the limitations. It wasn't money or love that I was looking for. I had a heightened sense of awareness, was set in my ways, impractical and a visionary to boot. My mind was stro...

前言/序言

评分☆☆☆☆☆

很好的书物流快推荐给朋友买了

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我为什么喜欢在京东买东西，因为今天买明天就可以送到。我为什么每个商品的评价都一样，因为在京东买的东西太多太多了，导致积累了很多未评价的订单，所以我统一用段话作为评价内容。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

我为什么喜欢在京东买东西，因为今天买明天就可以送到。我为什么每个商品的评价都一样，因为在京东买的东西太多太多了，导致积累了很多未评价的订单，所以我统一用段话作为评价内容。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

京东是我一直最信赖的地方，所以肯定是正品啦

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不错，有空可复读

评分☆☆☆☆☆

包装得还不错，书没问题。

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经典的摇滚宗师

评分☆☆☆☆☆

等着好久，质量没得说！好

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京东是我一直最信赖的地方，所以肯定是正品啦